


never let go till we're gone

by fangirl_squee



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M, Reunions, minor descriptions of wounds (non graphic), spoilers for SiH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-01 00:21:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20455994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee
Summary: A reunion.





	never let go till we're gone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imperialhare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperialhare/gifts).

> For Linda, for their birthday.
> 
> Thanks to Maddie, for betaing.

Samothes steps onto the balcony. It is a day like any other: a warm breeze over the ocean as the clouds that dot the horizon turn pink, then orange under the new day’s sun. He can see people down on the shore, people walking together, a few fisherman sitting apart from one another so their lines remain untangled.

He sketches out the mechanics of a fishing machine in his mind, almost absent-mindedly. It’s not really his place to shape people’s lives like that anymore, although perhaps he’ll build a model, take it down to the group that have taken over the running of DuCarte’s and see if they would like to use it for something.

There’s a grouping of people on the beach, unusual for the early hour; people pointing out to sea. He follows where they’re pointing, his breath catching in his throat as he sees a figure in the waves, moving weakly. At first he thinks it’s Hadrian, returned to him somehow, but, no, it’s too slight of a figure for that-

The early morning sun catches on golden hair.

Samothes grips the railing of the balcony as his knees buckle. For a moment he can only watch the figure of Samot in the distance. His mind almost cannot believe what his eyes see, clouded by a hundred memories of his husband all at once, beautiful and wonderful and terrible alike.

A seagull’s cry shakes him from his daze and he stumbles away from the balcony, breaking into a run as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, racing towards the shore. He bypasses the crowd entirely, diving into the water, his heart pounding as he reaches the figure.

“Samot!” Samothes manages to say.

“Samothes-!”

Samot’s voice is weak, rasping. He reaches out a hard towards Samothes, and Samothes pulls Samot towards him into their first embrace in centuries. 

Samothes can feel Samot trembling in his arms, can feel his own hands shake as he brushes the wet hair from Samot’s face. A moment of silence passes between them as Samothes takes him in. The thin scar that runs across his cheek is half in bloom, striking against his pale skin.

“I told you I cut my hair,” said Samot. He raises a hand, carding his fingers through Samothes’ hair, much longer now than when last saw one another. “I see you’ve grown yours.”

Samothes huffs a laugh, pulling Samot close to him again. Samot follows easily, as though there weren’t the years between them. He feels Samot press his face into his neck, not quite a kiss but enough to make his chest ache. He swallows hard.

“I feel as if I should give my condolences,” says Samothes, “considering what must have happened to send you here.”

“It was what I wanted,” says Samot.

Samothes presses a kiss to Samot’s head. He feels Samot’s shoulders shake as he lets out a sob, and holds him tighter.

Someone calls from shore, their words lost to the sound of the waves. Samothes blinks, looking over towards them. He’d quite forgotten they were there. He’d forgotten that his husband has that effect on him.

He tucks his arms around Samot’s body, carrying him through the water towards the shore. Samot must be feeling worse than he looks because he doesn’t protest, only sliding his hand around the back of Samothes’ neck.

Samothes manages to brush aside the worries of those on shore, moving quickly enough that he’s not pulled into any discussions. He’s probably a lot ruder about it than he ought to be - he doubts he’s used this particular skill since they were married.

Samot rests his head against Samothes’s shoulder as they walk, letting out a soft sigh as they step past the wall that surrounds Samothes’ home. Now that they’re out of the wind, he notices how cold Samot feels, the way his clothing is soaked through. It would be easy enough to call for assistance, but he can’t quite bring himself to. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Samot. He doesn’t want to have to share him just yet.

He pauses in the hallway, clearing his throat. “Is… would you feel comfortable if I took you to my rooms?”

Samot looks at him for a moment before he huffs a laugh. “It’s been a long time since you have asked me that.”

Samothes shifts his feet, feeling seawater drip onto the floor from their clothes. “I-”

“Yes,” says Samot, quickly, over the top of his words, “Yes, take me to your rooms.”

Samothes nods. He doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak.

He sets Samot down on the lounge in his room, stepping away to find a blanket. When he turns back, Samot is watching him. Samothes tucks the blanket around his shoulders. His hands linger on Samot’s shoulders.

“I’ll go find you something dry to wear,” says Samothes

Samot put a hand over Samothes’s. “Don’t- not just yet.”

“I know it seems unlikely,” says Samothes, “but you can still catch a cold here.”

“And I hardly intend to stay in damp clothes forever,” says Samot, “Just- sit with me a moment?”

Samothes sits behind him before his mind even catches up to the movement. They study each other a moment. Samot reaches out, cupping Samothes’ cheek in his hand, stroking along his beard and the planes of his face. Samothes wonders how changed he looks, since they have last seen each other. They’re both older, certainly, although Samot is still as beautiful to him as ever.

He reaches out tentatively, to touch the wound on Samot’s cheek. Samot flinches.

Samothes hurriedly draws his hand back. “Sorry, I-”

Samot catches his hand. “No, I-” He draws Samothes’s hand closer towards him. “Please.”

Samothes touches his fingertips to Samot’s cheek. Leaves wind their way out of the wound, the bright green of new growth.

“It’s how I died,” says Samot softly.

Samothes swallows, searching for words for a moment before he leans forward, pressing their foreheads together instead. He feels Samot let out a shaky exhale, he eyes fluttering closed. They breathe together, shifting closer to one another, until their lips touch.

He feels Samot draw himself closer and he reaches up, keeping the blanket around Samot’s shoulders. Samot uses the tilt of Samothes’ body to press him further onto the couch, so that Samot can slide in-between his legs. The blanket drapes over both of them, making the small world seem smaller still, a single couch of two sea-damp people.

Samot deepens the kiss, gripping the edges of Samothes’s robes tight, as though Samtohes were trying to pull away. It would be impossible to want to, impossible to want anything other than this. Samothes cards his fingers through Samot’s damp hair, smiling as Samot shivers in the way Samothes remembers.

He slides his hands down Samot’s back and Samot freezes, gasping against his lips. Samothes draws back slightly, frowning at the pain on Samot’s face for a moment before he realises.

“We should- you’re injured, I should get a physician, I-”

“I’m fine,” says Samot, “can’t we just-”

“You’re not fine,” says Samothes, “you just  _ died _ .”

“I-” Samot laughs, sitting back a little to run a hand through his hair. “Yes, I suppose I did. I don’t know what exactly you expect a physician to do about it.”

Samothes touches Samot’s cheek again, next to the wound. His fingers tremble a little, where they touch Samot’s skin. Samot leans into his touch, bringing a hand up to cover Samothes’s.

“We- did you want to-” Samothes swallows, starts again. “I’ve been told I’m a better listener now, than when I first arrived here. If there was something you wanted to talk about.”

“I-” Samot lets out a breath. “Later, I can’t- Let me just look at you first, for a while.”

Samot rests his hands on Samothes’s chest, studying him. Samothes is sure Samot can feel his heart racing. He leans closer to Samothes, and closer still, until his forehead rests on Samothes’s shoulder.

“Perhaps it will not change anything,” says Samothes, “but I would feel more at ease if you would let me call a physician for you.”

He feels the puff of air on his skin as Samot exhales. “Very Well. If it will make  _ you _ feel better.”

There are several physicians in Aubade, some who arrived with their knowledge and others who learnt after they arrived. Samothes asks one who has been there the longest, Doctor Kelley. He’s seen their steady hands work on fishing injuries and nervous conditions alike, and he’s never known them to be a gossip about it afterwards.

He sends a messenger to bring Kelley to them while Samot changes behind a screen. Samothes flicks his gaze around the room, trying to avoid staring at the blurry shadow of Samot through the screen. He looks more himself after he changes into the clean blue robes, the silks fluttering behind him as he takes Samothes’s arm, walking with him to greet Kelley.

Kelley’s face is carefully neutral as they examine Samot, asking the occasional question in their soft voice, and nodding at Samot’s answers.

“It will… I do not believe these are the kind of wounds that will ever truly heal,” says Kelley, “but I do not believe they will worsen, and the pain of them will lessen with time.” They turn a little more towards Samot. “You will need rest.”

Samot nods, his expression already tinged with a familiar stubbornness. Something warm stirs in Samothes’s chest at the sight of it.

Kelley gives other instructions, stretches Samot should do in between resting, tinctures he can take if the wounds ache too much. Samothes takes as much note of it as he can, although his attention is pulled back to Samot with every small movement Samot makes.

He helps Samot into bed after Kelley leaves. Samot tangles their fingers together, pulling Samothes down with him, and Samothes laughs, smiling as he lets Samot pull him under the covers. Samot curls against him, one hand resting on Samothes’s chest.

“You have to rest,” says Samothes.

“This is restful,” says Samot, “I’m lying down with my husband.”

Samothes’s breath catches. “It has been a long time since you called me that.”

Samot looks up at him. “But it- I always felt it, even when we…” He reaches up, cupping Samothes’s cheek. “Even when I hated you, I always loved you.”

Samothes’s vision blurs, and he turns his face into Samot’s hand, pressing a kiss to his palm. He takes a steadying breath in.

“I always hoped but- it is good to hear you say it. I-” he swallows, forcing himself to meet Samot’s gaze. “I love you, still.”

Samot pushes himself up to kiss Samothes again, a slow press of their lips, calling to mind a hundred sleepy mornings and summer afternoons of the past. Samot pulls back, breathing against his lips for a moment before he leans in again. Samothes’s hands go to Samot’s hips, holding him steady.

He presses a kiss to Samothes’s chin as he leans back, half-lying on top of Samothes. Samothes curls an arm around his side, holding him as close as he can while still being careful of the wound on Samot’s side.

They watch each other until it is too dark to see, leaning into one another in the darkness, feeling the warmth of one against their skin, warm and real.

  
  


\----

  
  


Somewhere, over Hieron, two suns move slowly towards one another, forming into one.

A good omen, people say, of the times to come.

Perhaps it is.

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi: mariusperkins on most places


End file.
